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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281650">delicate in every way but one</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF'>PepperF</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Diego whump [30]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(probably), Angst, Gen, I think this is the first one I've done actual medical research for, Whumptober 2020, but the ones that are there are ACCURATE DAMMIT, for the whole prompt series, go me?, not actually a lot of medical details</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:47:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marija drops down beside him and leans her wiry arms over the ropes, panting. "Good fight," she puffs. "Gotcha good, huh?"</p>
<p>Yeah, he's going to be black and blue tomorrow. "Sure did. Got you back, though." He nods at the way her cheek is already beginning to swell.</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah. You okay, though—for reals? Broken rib?"</p>
<p>He pokes gingerly at his left side, but he's had enough of those to know the difference. "Nah. Just a bruise."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Number Five | The Boy &amp; Diego Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Diego whump [30]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>delicate in every way but one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to Bethany, who not only beta-read this but also sent me Halloween eggs! XD</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Next to a good fight, a good workout was Diego's favorite way to let off steam. And a good workout that involved a good fight—well, you couldn't beat it.</p>
<p>Marija isn't the most solidly-built fighter in Al's gym, but she is one of the fastest. She's focused as fuck, with a restless drive that's uncomfortably familiar—the need to win because coming second isn't an option. On a good day, now, she can beat him, and she's been getting more and more of those lately. When she finally gets the paid fight she's been pestering Al to set up for her, he's not going to bet against her. He's glad she's in here, in the gym, channelling all that energy into learning the proper techniques and whatnot, and not—wherever else she might be.</p>
<p>Plus, she's a challenging opponent who doesn't pull her punches, which he appreciates. She's landed a few good ones on him by the time they call it quits, including a couple to his jaw, and a brutal uppercut to his ribs that stopped the fight for a minute or two while he tried to catch his breath. It twinges again as he slips his legs over the edge of the ring and sits for a second.</p>
<p>Marija drops down beside him and leans her wiry arms over the ropes, panting. "Good fight," she puffs. "Gotcha good, huh?"</p>
<p>Yeah, he's going to be black and blue tomorrow. "Sure did. Got you back, though." He nods at the way her cheek is already beginning to swell.</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah. You okay, though—for reals? Broken rib?"</p>
<p>He pokes gingerly at his left side, but he's had enough of those to know the difference. "Nah. Just a bruise."</p>
<p>"<i>Just </i>a bruise," she mocks. "Keep telling yourself, Diego." Diego reaches to give her a shove, but she's too fast, swinging herself under the ropes and down to the ground. She grins at him from beyond his reach. "Gotta keep those feet moving, old man."</p>
<p>"Old!? I'm thirty," he protests. But she just flips him off as she leaves.</p>
<p>Once she's disappeared into the locker area, and no one else is watching, he eases himself down from the ring, moving slowly, wincing again at the pain in his side and trying not to breathe too deeply. She really did get him good. </p>
<p>He drives himself home—the Academy, and isn't that something?—to shower and change, and then heads down to the kitchen to fix himself some food, because he's normally starving after a fight.</p>
<p>Five is in there, sipping coffee and reading the paper, and he glances up briefly to nod a greeting. "Had a good time getting your brains knocked about?"</p>
<p>"Great time, yeah. Had a good time getting no exercise?"</p>
<p>"My exercise is cerebral, and I get plenty of it, thanks." With that, Five shakes out his paper and disappears behind it again.</p>
<p>Diego grins, and goes back to making himself a sandwich. He leans into the fridge to get an armful of ingredients, including those pickles that Vanya tried to hide behind the mayo, and he must straighten up a little too quickly, because he finds himself blinking back spots that swim in his vision. He stands in place for a second, catching his balance and trying not to drop anything—but it passes swiftly, so he turns and dumps everything on the table. He'll feel better when he's had some food.</p>
<p>He potters around the kitchen, a comfortable silence between him and Five, until he's made himself a club sandwich and a glass of juice, and sits down—heavily, because his legs are tired, which makes Five look up again. His brother eyes him, and then focuses in on the sandwich. </p>
<p>Diego takes a huge bite, chewing as they watch one another in a silent battle of wills—until he finally slides the plate over. Five sets his paper down and eagerly grabs one of the quarters. He's a growing boy—again, much to his very vocal annoyance—and seems to be constantly famished. Diego remembers the feeling. Anyhow, he's not actually that hungry today. Probably got his bell rung a little too loudly, not that he's going to admit it.</p>
<p>He doesn't notice that Five's attention is on him again until the boy speaks up. "You okay, Diego?"</p>
<p>Diego lifts his head, surprised to find that he'd checked out. "What? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."</p>
<p>"You know that concussion is a potentially serious—"</p>
<p>"I'm fine," he snaps. "I'm not concussed, okay? I didn't get hit that hard." He's, like, 99% sure about that, even if he is feeling a little lightheaded. "It doesn't feel like that."</p>
<p>Five is quiet for a moment. "But it feels like <i>something</i>," he says, the perceptive little shit.</p>
<p>"Yeah. No. I dunno."</p>
<p>"Well, you've successfully identified the three possible answers to that question," snarks Five. </p>
<p>Diego glares at him. "I'm fine," he says again, making an effort to sound convincing this time. "Just had a tough workout, that's all."</p>
<p>Five is still staring at him. "Okay," he says, sounding dubious—but at least he drops the subject. Not that Diego will ever say this aloud for fear that he'll wake up in the wrong decade, but Five's concern for his family is kind of cute. And probably the result of trauma, yadda yadda, but still—it's nice to know that he cares. He spends so much time acting like a total prick that it's good to have the occasional reminder that he's not totally heartless. </p>
<p>Realizing that he's been poking at the remains of his sandwich for a while now, he pushes it aside, and rolls his aching shoulder—until a sharp pain stabs up his entire left side, and he stops abruptly, huffing out a breath like he's just been sucker-punched. He reaches gingerly for the bruise on his side with a shaky hand. The whole area is hot and achy, and even thinking about touching it sends a roll of nausea through his gut, his vision blurring. He breathes shallowly until the pain eases off a little.</p>
<p>When he looks up, Five has vanished. So much for his concern, Diego guesses—but at least now he doesn't have to hide the fact that he feels like shit. He leans forward onto the table, resting his forehead against the worn wood and curling around his injured side, trying to work out if it feels worse than before, or if that's just the adrenaline wearing off. He's probably fine, right? He's been in a billion fights, and sometimes someone lands a punch or a kick that leaves him feeling like crap for days. That's all that's happening here.</p>
<p>He wonders where his appendix is located. Left or right side? After Ben had his removed, where did he have his scar? He can't quite remember. He closes his eyes and listens to the rapid, panicky beat of his heart.</p>
<p>There's a <i>pop </i>of displaced air, and Five is back, and leaning a hand on Diego's shoulder. "Luther's coming," he says, quietly. </p>
<p>Diego turns his head to look at him, working hard to focus his eyes. "Luther? Why?"</p>
<p>"Because I need help getting you to the car. I'd teleport us, but I don't want to risk it."</p>
<p>The car? "Where're we going?" He's not really in the mood for a drive right now. Maybe when he's had a rest...</p>
<p>Five's lips thin. "I know you're not going to like this, but I'm taking you to the emergency room."</p>
<p>Diego forces himself to sit up. It's a lot more effort than usual. "What? Why?"</p>
<p>Luther's heavy footsteps thump down the stairs to the kitchen. He takes one look at Diego and then turns to Five. "Wow, yeah, he looks like shit."</p>
<p>Diego knows it's irrational, knows he's being stupid, and risky, and all that stuff, but he can't help it. He shakes off Five's hand and stands up in a hurry. "<i>I'm</i>—" is as far as he gets.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>"I've prepared a presentation—" says Five, which is an absolutely terrible way to wake up. </p>
<p>Diego groans, blinking in confusion at the white room. Hospital? When did that happen? </p>
<p>"—to which you will listen, and pay attention," continues Five, relentlessly.</p>
<p>Diego wonders if he can go back to sleep and blame the concussion or whatever. "What the fuck?"</p>
<p>Five clicks something, and there's the sound of an old-fashioned slide carousel moving, and then a picture flashes up on one white wall. "Figure one. This is a diagram of your internal organs. Pay particular attention to the location of the spleen, which I have highlighted. This will be important later."</p>
<p>Or maybe he could just die. "What did I do?" he asks the universe.</p>
<p>The universe answers, in the person of Luther. "You fainted, dude. You'd lost like five pints of blood by the time they got you into the operating room."</p>
<p>Blood? Where? Surely he would have noticed? But there's a more important issue with what Luther just said. "I didn't <i>faint</i>." </p>
<p>"You totally fainted. I was there. You went white as a sheet, and keeled over backwards."</p>
<p>"I might have <i>passed out</i>—"</p>
<p>Five clears his throat pointedly. "<i>As I was saying</i>." He clicks the button for the next slide. "Meet your spleen. This organ performs several important functions within your body, such as fighting germs and filtering your blood, and is a key part of your immune system. However, some of these functions can also be performed by the liver. This sometimes needs to happen when the spleen is damaged or ruptured after an injury, such as a blow to the abdomen in a car crash or sporting accident..."</p>
<p>Diego closes his eyes and prays for death.</p>
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